


The Blue Silk Dress

by SanctityoftheBoudoir



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Loss of Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 20:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4451642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanctityoftheBoudoir/pseuds/SanctityoftheBoudoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ross comes home one night to find his kitchen maid Demelza wearing his mother's old gown, at first he's furious that she would think to raise herself so high. But soon, he finds his anger turns to passion when caught in her deep green gaze...</p>
<p>A reimagining of how Demelza and Ross' first night together may have gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blue Silk Dress

“How _dare_ you?”

Demelza froze under her employer’s accusatory gaze. The reflection of the fire flickered in his dark eyes, making his anger appear even more intense. She gulped.

“I knew it wasn’t right, sir, but, it be lyin’ around gatherin’ dust anyhow and I figured a how ye might let me wear it from time ta time—“

“That was my mother’s gown _._ A true lady—a _Poldark_ —far above your station whose gowns didn’t deserve to be worn by a common kitchen maid!”

If possible, Demelza shrank even further into herself. “I’m so sorry, sir. I know the likes of these weren’t made fer the likes of me. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, sir.”

Poldark’s gaze narrowed on her slender form. “Take it off. Now.”

She trembled before him, in both fear and, unexpectedly, passion. While she hadn’t meant to displease her employer, and would endeavor never to do so again, she couldn’t deny that in his anger, chest heaving, eyes glittering and intent upon her, he was more attractive than ever. “Yes, sir.” She turned to walk out of his study, tears of shame filling her light green eyes.

Demelza felt his hand clasp her waist and yank her back to him. “I said _now,_ ” he growled into her ear. His hands began to yank roughly on her stays and the warmth of his hands started to seep slowly through the silk, causing a shiver to run down her back. She bit her lip to keep from crying out: in fear or in anticipation, she did not know.

As he worked her way down her back, he began to slow, molding his hands to her form as he carefully drew the blue ribbons out one eyelet, then the next. Demelza felt his breath ragged as her own between her shoulder blades, and his tousled locks grazed her nape. She felt her pulse begin to quicken as inch after inch of pale flesh was exposed to his view.

Finally, he reached the end and ever-so-slowly drew the long ribbon away and out of the dress. Demelza felt the gown slipping off of her and caught the front, pressing it to her breast, but stood still as she felt his gaze intent on her back.

They stood that way, neither moving, neither speaking, for what seemed like an eternity until suddenly Poldark turned away and ran his hand through his black curls, cursing under his breath. “Leave it in the chest, Demelza. I’ll see you in the morning.” She turned to see him stalking out of the study and toward his bedroom.

For a moment she stood in the study gazing into the flames at the hearth and deliberated over what to do. Clearly, what she ought to do was place the dress back where it belonged and hope to God that her master never brought it up again. But what she wanted to do—oh, Lords be praised, what she wanted to do was something different entirely. Demelza knew that the deep love she felt for Poldark would never be returned, but she had thought for a moment that, at the very least, some of her lust was felt equally by him.

Could she have read the signs wrong? After all, he had walked away from her…but what if she was right? She thought about the consequences. At worst, he would spurn her advances and she’d be out wandering the moor again with naught but Garrick for company—a life she was more than used to, and now she’d be doing it with decent clothes on her back. But if she succeeded, it would mean a chance to express physically the love and the passion she’d felt for Poldark since the day he fought off her father and brothers simply to keep her safe.

Decision made, Demelza tiptoed softly over to his bedroom door and knocked twice in rapid succession before gently pressing the door open and peering inside. He was seated on the edge of his bed with one boot in his hands, the other already discarded on the floor. He looked up at her. The anger had mostly faded from his eyes and been replaced by something darker—something ancient and instinctual that she felt deep in her womb. “What is it, Demelza?”

She closed the door behind her, then turned back to face him. She took a deep breath— _courage, Demelza,_ she thought—and let the blue gown fall softly to the floor.

* * *

 

Ross could barely believe his eyes. After weeks—nay, months—of imagining what might lie beneath the loose sack gowns his kitchen maid wore around the house, the reality in front of him was far beyond what his feeble mind had conjured up. Her breasts were perfect: small, but high and firm, with taut small nipples the color of Cornish heath. In the lamplight, every shadow on her pale slim form was enhanced, drawing his attention to first the soft dip at her navel, then the dark auburn curls between her thighs, before his gaze slid even lower to her long, tapered legs. Desire washed over him, burning him to his core, burning him to his loins.

He dragged his gaze away and rubbed his hand across his eyes. “What are you thinking? This isn’t right.”

Her heard her pad over to his side, felt her hands cup his jaw and turn him to look up at her magical green eyes. “I want naught but to offer ye comfort, sir. I’ve no expectations. But I can see yer troubled, and I…” Her voice faded as he leaned forward to rest his head against her stomach, nuzzling against the undersides of her breasts.

“I’ve tried to do the right thing by you, Demelza—as my employee, you deserve my respect and my distance. But I find that I cannot refuse a gift so freely given. You tempt me sorely, little one, and tonight, I can’t help but see us as not master and maid, but man and woman. Let me love you, Demelza—if only just for tonight.”

He felt her bury her hands in his hair and turn his gaze up to hers. “Fer you, sir, anythin’. Everythin’.” She bent down and pressed her lips eagerly and inexpertly to his. His already stiffened shaft leapt at even that innocent touch. Ross stood, gathered her light body in his arms, and laid her down in the middle of his bed before stripping himself of his shirt and breeches and settling himself above her.

For a moment, he held himself still above her, relishing the feel of her stiff peaks rubbing against his chest hair, her limbs slithering against his, her feminine heat at the core of her cradling his own turgid length. But he couldn’t hold himself still for long before his primal instinct overtook him and he lowered his lips to hers. Her slim arms came around his neck almost at once as he hungrily devoured her mouth. Though clearly untutored, her kisses were just as ardent as his, and their sweetness stoked his desire even higher as he crushed their mouths together in reckless abandon.

Ross ran his hand down her arm, then lightly up the edge of her torso up to her jaw. He applied light pressure and tipped her mouth open, then proceeded to slip his tongue into her hot mouth. She tasted of fresh biscuits, ale, and another flavor that was uniquely Demelza. It intoxicated him and led him to lock his tongue with her own, goading her into responding in kind.

Keeping one hand above her head to prop himself up, he slid his other down to her left breast, cradling its weight in his palm. He began to gently massage it before moving his thumb to that stiff pink tip he’d so admired minutes earlier. She moaned into his mouth and Ross grinned against her lips. He might not be able to control the wily actions of the Warleggans, or the slovenly thieving ways of the Paynters, but Demelza’s hot fiery passions he could play like a finely-tuned harp.

He broke away from her mouth and, before she could protest, began to kiss his way down the column of her throat, across her delicately carved clavicle, and down to the place between her breasts. She tipped her head up to look down at him in wonder and anticipation as he slid to the right and lowered his mouth to her breast, sucking the tip deep into his mouth. Demelza cried out and shifted against his length uneasily, passion thrumming through her veins, as he suckled her. He pulled back and blew on the wet flesh with a quick, cold blast of air, tightening the peak even further, then lightly scraped his nail against it.

Demelza leapt against him. “Judas! Sir, whatever that was, don’ you dare stop!”

Ross laughed lustily and looked back up at her. “Far be it from me to refuse a lady—but I think that, under the circumstances, you should call me Ross.”

Demelza’s passion-hazed eyes blinked at him slowly, seductively, and she nodded. “Yes, si—I mean, yes, _Ross_.”

“Much better. Now, let’s see if I can’t please my young flame-haired temptress.” He bent down and repeated his actions on her other breast, his cock hardening with every moan that he skillfully drew from her.

Finally he could resist her restless thrashing against his loins no longer. He put his hands on her slim hips and slid his way down her body until he could nuzzle the damp reddish curls guarding her secrets. He reached down to her knees and pressed gently until they fell apart easily, opening her up to him. Ross looked back up at Demelza to see her eyes shining with the same unsatisfied lust he felt and, more stirringly, unerring trust. He knew at that moment that whatever he did, she would allow, trusting in him to bring her to the highest heights of pleasure. He felt that trust, that faith wash over him and he was inspired anew to make sure that experience was good for her.

He brought a hand up and used his middle three fingers to part her slick folds, running them back and forth over her opening before finally sliding one up underneath her hood to press against her tiny bead of pleasure. Ross watched her throw her head back and twist her hands in his sheets, her wild red locks sticking out above her head, as she loosed a deep, low moan from the bottom of her throat. “More, Ross, if you please” she dictated, grinding her hips up at him insistently. He grinned and, instead of reprimanding her for forgetting her place and deigning to give _him_ orders, he got to work, lowering his mouth to her.

Drinking in her cries, he used one hand to pull her hood up for better access to her pleasure bead while using the other to pump two fingers in and out of her tight sheath, pushing up to stroke her inner walls. Her legs attempted to wrap around him but were impeded by his broad shoulders, so she just lay back writhing in the sheets as her pleasure mounted higher and higher. He relished this unique flavor of her, a combination of her juices and the light sheen of sweat that had accumulated on her body. Suddenly, she reached down to pull his head sharply against her and bucked strongly against him once, twice, three times before her body snapped straight as an arrow and she let out a long, high-pitched keen, the tendons in her neck jutting out as she rode out her orgasm.

He continued to pump against her, her contractions crushing against his fingers, until she fell limp against the sheets and began to pull in deep gasping breaths. He watched her flushed body in all its glory, breasts heaving, hair matted to her forehead, until she finally opened her eyes and gazed down at him.

Slowly, Demelza reached out to clasp both his hands in her own and looked at him expectantly. “And now your turn, Ross.”

He groaned and let her pull him back up her body. So far, he had pushed them far past the bounds of propriety, but still kept her innocence intact—innocence in the most technical sense, anyhow. But if he did this…if he did all that he wanted with her, in her, her reputation and his sense of honor would both be indefatigably ruined.

Demelza caught his face between her hands and pulled his head down beside her shoulder, to whisper in his ear: “I loved yer hands inside me, Ross…but methinks there’s summat else I’d like to feel even more, if ye like.”

Ross pulled back to look at her. She smiled up at him slyly and the combination of her words and her seductive intent washed all traces of honor away from his conscience. He reached down to grasp his throbbing shaft in one hand and notched it against her, the swollen head slipping against folds drenched with sweat, juices, and his own saliva. Her heat beckoned his, and he slowly began to arch his hips, using his hand to guide his member into her. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he pushed himself past the sweet tight resistance at her very entrance and then slid in easily all the way up to the flimsy barrier of her maidenhead. Here he paused, knowing that this weak scrap of flesh would take nothing for him to break, but would mean everything to her.

Suddenly he felt her hands clenching his hewn buttocks and he glanced up. Again the trusting look was in his eyes. “Go on, then,” Demelza said encouragingly, with a slight smile on her lips. “I’m waitin’, Ross.” He groaned and, with a small but powerful flick of his hips, broke through the barrier and was buried fully within her. He savored the moment briefly while allowing her time to adjust to his full seven inches of pure Poldark. The feeling of her was heaven, with her pleasure juices submerging his member in their heat. This was one Cornish mine shaft he didn’t mind being underwater.

Demelza wriggled underneath him, accustoming herself to the feel of him, as he waited for a sign to continue. While it was hell to wait, it was almost just as heavenly to soak in the feel of her around him. Finally, she pressed her hands to his chest and smoothed them up until they were resting on his shoulders, and she stretched up to give him another hard, open-mouthed kiss. When she pulled back, he murmured, “Are you ready, love?”

She wrapped her legs around his waist and stretched up against him like a cat before grinning cheekily. “Aye aye, Cap’n Poldark, sir! Heave to!”

He suppressed a chuckle and pulled out about three quarters of the way—just enough to feel her entrance clenching the head of him—before sliding back in to the hilt, this time with nothing to bar his way. He continued this pattern, slowly in and out, with each thrust a little harder, a little faster, until she was writhing against him once more like a wildcat. Ross became intent and focused, increasing the pace until with each slam he could feel himself batting away another of his many concerns. With each cry of pleasure, he could feel his permeating loneliness, his sense of responsibility for his tenants, his financial woes falling away and being replaced by the cries of this woman. Of his woman.

As he neared his own peak, Demelza reached up and licked a trail of sweat off of his chest, and that threw him over the edge. HE thrust into her one last time and locked his arms above her head, roaring his pleasure as he dimly heard her cry her own pleasures as well. He pumped his life’s seed into her, giving her the only thing that he had to give, and rolled away, collapsing on his back beside her. He laid there, chest heaving, listening to Demelza’s do the same and unable to process a single thought.

For how long they laid there glorying in their own satiation, he didn’t know. At some point, he felt a shift in the mattress and turned to see Demelza gingerly making her way toward the discarded blue dress on the floor. He sat up and called out to her.

“Demelza.”

She turned back to look at him, her eyes soft and uncontesting in the aftermath of her orgasms. “Yes, sir?”

“Stay with me,” he commanded. An order to a servant—a desperate plea to a lover. One that could be easily denied.

She looked down and gave a small smile to herself before walking back over to the bed and climbing beneath the covers. She turned away on her side and, as he began to drift off to sleep, he felt her clasp his hand in her own. His last memory before slipping into Morpheus’s kingdom was her faint whisper at his ear: “Yes, sir.”

 

FIN


End file.
